


Something for the Headache

by NHGVision



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Spark Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHGVision/pseuds/NHGVision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl gets trapped on a backwater planet with the Constructicons, and they only way off is if the Constructicons rebuild the ship. They’ll do it, but for a price Prowl is unsure of. (Done for the 2014 Transformers Reverse Bang)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Head Aches

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Something for the Headache (Art Piece No. 9)  
> Artist: Shibara  
> Author: NHGvision (AKA: Neon)  
> Continuity: IDW  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Characters/pairings: Prowl/Constructicons  
> Content advice/warnings: Drug use, dubious consent, mind alteration, violence.  
> Summary: Prowl gets trapped on a backwater planet with the Constructicons, and they only way off is if the Constructicons rebuild the ship. They’ll do it, but for a price Prowl is unsure of.  
> Notes: I, uh, I know I said I wasn’t going to make it too long, but, um…it just sort of…got away from me…Oops?

**Note: For being a longer story, I'll be posting a chapter every few days or so. Special thanks to the mods of the Reverse Bang for their patients (despite my woefully pathetic ability to keep myself updated), and the incredible[Shibara](http://shibara.tumblr.com/) for the wonderful art piece that inspired the whole thing! I hope you'll like it! The picture will be posted in the next chapter, when its scene shows up.**

1\. Head Aches

Optimus had asked Prowl to be the attorney at Megatron’s trial, and Prowl had said _no_. Heck, he didn’t just say no, he had _blown up!_ Forget table flipping, he had been inches away from picking a desk up and _hitting_ Optimus with it to knock some sense into him! Give the universe’s most notorious war criminal and murderer a _trial!?_ What in Primus’s name was _wrong_ with Optimus!? There were millions of years of evidence, countless bodies of people and civilizations, and the eye witness accounts of hundreds of thousands of Cybertronians proving his guilt! There was no point in a trial, Megatron was guilty! No questions, no doubts, no interrogations, no second-guessing, _no trial._ To even suggest that the genocidal maniac was permitted the same rights as other people was spitting in the face of all the sacrifices they had had to make over the centuries!

It was when Optimus had looked at Prowl with that sad puppy gaze of his, pleading with him to be fair, to respect Cybertronians law, that Prowl realized Optimus was an _idiot._

To think he had spent so many millions of years under a leader who hid his lack of ball bearings behind “ethics”, fighting a barbarian who would only give up in the end, irked Prowl to no end. So many centuries of his efforts and gifts _wasted._

So he had left. It was either that or he would do something he would regret very, very much. For once, he had no plan as to where he was going or what for. All Prowl needed was a quiet place to sit and think. He just needed to get off of Cybertron and away from the bastardization of justice that was going on there.

Unfortunately, the Constructicons had followed him.

“Hey, Boooooss.”

Prowl suppressed the urge to groan and turned around, glaring at Mixmaster.  


“For the last time, Mixmaster,” he said shortly, “We will _not_ poison Optimus.”  


“Yeaaaah, but come on, you were thinking of it,” Mixmaster said, grinning wickedly.  


“The mech needs to be put down, Boss-“ Bonecrusher began.  


“ NO!” Prowl snapped, “I will _not_ be taking suggestions from the likes of you! It was bad enough that I even _let_ you on this excursion in the first place instead of shooting you once we got to free space. _Don’t_ make me change my mind!”  


The temper snap was out of character, but the Constructicons had been nagging him non-stop since the journey began. The nagging, on top of Megatron’s trial, the realization he had wasted centuries of effort, and Optimus’(for lack of a better word) betrayal, had pretty much all but destroyed Prowl’s patients. Every mech has a breaking point and Prowl shot through his at a hundred miles an hour about seven hours back.  


The Constructicons were sickeningly supportive of him, giving him comfort and encouragement despite his near-violent rejection.  


Thankfully, silence fell, but Prowl could distantly feel their giddy excitement over the gestalt bond. Like little kids trying to purse their lips to keep themselves from squealing, they were just dying to say more. Scavenger sensed him and attempted to squeeze a tendril of awareness closer to Prowl, to show him rather than tell him what he was thinking. Prowl responded by cruelly cinching off the gestalt bond, blocking off all emotions to and from him and the ‘Cons. His own Spark grew cold and heavier from the lack of input, but he did not show it. He turned away from them to look out the window, refusing to even let them see his face.  


Another factor in Prowl’s misery was his battle computer. It had spent millions of years focused on Autobot victory, but recent events had put it in a sloppy and unorganized space as it tried to re-categorize and make sense of conflicting stimuli and events. It took up a little over seventy percent of Prowl’s processing space, making his head ache from the constant data stream running around in circles in his mind.  


_> Goal: Autobot Victory. _

_> Achieved. Cause: Surrender of Decepticon leader Megatron._

_> Complication: Megatron is to be given a trial, despite insurmountable evidence already declaring him guilty._   


_> Error! Complication source from Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots._   


_> Error! Optimus Prime and Megatron are enemies. Inquirey: Why would Optimus permit a trial?_   


_> Optimus Prime: Loyal to Autobot cause._   


_> Error! Oprimus Prime not loyal to Autobot cause! Evidence: Supporting Megatron’s trial._   


_> Error! Optimus Prime had led the Autobots against Megatron and his Decepticons for centuries…_   


On and on it went; confused, unorganized, in dire need of rewriting priorities entirely, yet having no template or goal to write them on. It was because of this that Prowl’s battle computer was almost rattling in his processor, taking up energy, defrag time and space, and attention, hogging everything to the point where he was in a constant irritable space. Why hadn’t Optimus just shot Megatron and let it be done with it?  


This caused another frenzy in Prowl’s processor, questioning Optimus’ and Megatron’s relationship status and Prowl had to resist the urge to bang his head against a wall and groan.  


Looking out the window, he saw a turquoise planet coming up into view, growing larger and larger by the second.  


“Long Haul,” he said, “Decelerate and veer away from the planet by twenty degrees.”  


Nothing changed, the planet continued to grow, now filling the whole screen. The ship started shuddering as they entered the atmosphere. At this rate, they risked serious ship damage. Prowl turned to the ‘Con he had entrusted ship steerage to. The trash hauler was throwing himself against the steering column, attempting to turn it, but it would not budge.  


“Long Haul?” he asked.  


“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Long Haul exclaimed from the steering point, “But it just won’t-unf-work!”  


Hook got up from his seat and threw his own weight against the steering unit, but it did nothing. The ship was shaking violently now, with alarms and their lights going off everywhere. Outside, there was an audible crack as one of the ship’s wings was ripped off the main body. Prowl couldn’t even see the planet beyond the white-hot flames encompassing the ship, and he struggled to remain on two feet as the ship shook. Suddenly, there was a harsh bang from the rear of the ship as it bounced off something hard and the ship flew up, tossing its passengers off their feet.  


“Boss!” Bonecrusher shouted, and threw himself at Prowl.  


Prowl was swept up in the mech’s arms and found himself encompassed by green and purple metal before there was another crash and the world went black.


	2. Cast Aways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I got the names mixed up when describing the actual picture scene! The C's all look alike to me when you place them side by side. -_-

Pic by [Shibara](http://shibara.tumblr.com/), which inspired this whole hot mess. Give her love, everyone! 

** 2\. Cast Aways **

Crashed. 

And not just crashed: _Totaled!_

“One of the wings was ripped off from air tension entering the atmosphere,” Hook began, “The heat of atmospheric entry, combined with our entry speed, ripped off over half our ship’s outer armor and 12% of our inner armor, resulting in the melting of several circuits and vital fluid distribution systems. The melting of said fluid systems wound up disrupting our cooling system, already under stress from the re-entry, causing burnout in all three engines. We dropped even faster without flying ability and wound up bouncing off a cliff. Then we apparently started skipping stones across the mountains before finally landing in this valley.” 

He looked around at the grass lands, now divided by the deep, blackened dirt ditch left from the ship skidding through the soil. There were only small groves of trees here and there, with large hills in the distance breaking up the flat land. After the cacophony of the crash, the hush of the breeze over grass was eerily silent and heavy. It made Prowl twitchy and his battle computer went off. 

_> Calculating danger level…_

_> Error! Not enough processing space to calculate immediate danger level._

“Frankly, a miracle we even survived,” Hook stated. “In the end, we have no cooling or fueling distributing systems, over half of the ship armor is gone, all three engines are in pieces—“ 

“That’s enough,” Prowl interrupted. “What of the emergency beacon?” 

“Trashed, along with half of everything else in the crash.” 

_> Calculating chances of survival…_

_> Error! Not enough processing space to calculate chances of survival._

_> Attempting to cancel Megatron Trial/Prime Betrayal Calculations”…_

_> Action failed._

Prowl took a deep breath through his nasal unit, then stepped into a role he had held for centuries. His battle computer may be an unruly mess at the moment, but Prowl was still Prowl, raging head ache or not. 

“Break up into pairs and begin scouring the immediate area. Scavenger, Bonecrusher, look for energon deposits. We’re not too far from Cybertron, there’s bound to be some here. Mixmaster, Hook, collect potential supplies from the ship. Long Haul, stay on top of the ship and keep a look out for any predators or hostile locals. Our main point now is to find a secure location to rest and recuperate, plan our next course of action.” 

“What’s the rush, boss?” Long Haul asked, “Surely the Autobots are going to miss their favorite strategist?” 

“Optimus knew that I wanted some time to cool down and he’ll be giving that to me,” Prowl said. “We won’t be expecting help any time soon, and even when they realize something’s wrong, it will be _weeks_ for them to find out where to look. Until they get a clue, we’ll have to buckle down and take care of ourselves.’ 

“What about you?” Hook inquired, “Did the crash damage you?” 

The Constructicons were hardy; they had gotten out of the crash with only dings and dents. Prowl would have been smashed against a wall, had Bonecrusher not decided to play hero and protect him with his own body. Prowl did not give the mech so much as an acknowledging glance. 

Instead, he transformed into his own alt-mode and drove off. 

“I’ll go see what the local wild life is like.” 

* * * * * * * 

“We’re not getting off this planet.” 

Prowl wanted to argue, but knew Hook was right: The computers were destroyed, the ship was in pieces, and the same energon that saturated the planet and wildlife caused disruptions of communication signals. They were crippled and mute in the middle of nowhere with no one having any idea where they had gone and no reason to come looking for them. It would be a very, very long time for anyone to find them, _if_ they were found at all. 

This much had become apparent in the two weeks they had become stranded on this planet. In that time, Prowl had scarcely spoken to the mechs he was stuck with—both on the planet, and as a team—choosing instead to study the local flora and fauna as much as possible. He had determined a while ago that the planet held nothing to fear, but he would take any excuse to be away from the Constructicons. Whenever he was near them, they probed and prodded at the gestalt bond, quietly asking for entry, no matter how often he cinched the gestalt down with a chilling touch of rejection. While being alone left him to the head aches caused by his battle computer and the icy touch of an isolated Spark now tied to a gestalt, he some how preferred that to treating the Constructicons as anything but enemies. Too many centuries had passed to just be forgiven and forgotten because of a bond and a couple weeks alone. 

Prowl took a calming vent and turned to Hook, eyeing him from across the cave he and the Constructicons had come to settle in for the past two weeks. He always made sure that they were on the other side from him: You vs me, always. 

“Obviously,” he stated. “Or else we would have left this rock by now.” 

“Not on our own, at least.” 

“Hook, now is not the time.” 

“We’ve been around since before the war began,” Hook stated, “We were able to build entire _gladiator arenas_ out of scrap that was lying around, then disassemble it with no clues left behind. Do you _really_ think a ship, even a badly damaged one, is beyond our capabilities?” 

Prowl’s optics widened and one twitched dangerously. A deep hum ran through his processor momentarily. 

“Hook,” he said slowly, “If you’re telling me that you could have fixed the ship this entire time…” 

“Oh, not fix it, no, that thing is doomed,” Scavenger assured. After a pause, he added, “But make a new ship from the surviving _parts_ though…” 

For a long moment, it looked like Prowl would finally snap and murder them all. His end of the bond was sputtering open and shut rapidly, giving flashes of white-hot anger that were followed by black neutrality as he fought for control. Scavenger shrank from the anger, but the others merely smirked in amusement. 

Suddenly, Prowl’s computer had a mini-crash, spewing out random numbers and symbols. It startled Prowl enough to snap him out of his near-imminent murderous rampage and he shuttered his optics, taking in a long, deep, tired breath before opening his optics again and looking directly at Hook. 

“Knowing your skills, you could have made such a scrap ship on the first night we were here, and we would have been back on Cybertron by now. Yet you didn’t. Please explain your reasoning for this.” 

“We thought a vacation would do you good,” Long Haul said with a shrug. “Not to mention all the fascinating local fauna!” Mixmaster exclaimed as he pulled several vials from his subspace. “I mean, look at these: A near perfect blend of Cybertronian nano-technology and bio-organic life—“ 

“Why do you bring this up now?” Prowl asked curtly. 

“We want to make a deal,” Hook said. “Share an open bond with all of us.” 

Prowl actually took a step back in shock at the idea, but Hook held up a hand to stop him. The former enthusiasm was now serious, and the Constructicons were all silent around the campfire, allowing Hook to do the talking. 

“Ever since the first bonding, you’ve resisted every action to connect to us. This is not healthy for the bond, and therefore is not healthy for us or for you, Prowl. We know that, on top of the mess with Optimus and Megatron’s trial and the crash, the isolation isn’t healthy. We only want to help. You want off this planet. We all want a more stable state of mind. There’s only one way we can get that.” 

“I’ve…mixed up a little something to help you out…” Mixmaster said, holding out a vial. 

Prowl stared at the vial, then growled as he turned and stalked out of the cave entrance. 

“Forget it,” he growled, “I’ll find another way home.” 

Scavenger whimpered quietly, “But…we _are_ home…” 

“Don’t worry,” Hook assured, “He’ll come around. He has to.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” 

* * * * * * 

“Please, Prowl?” 

“Please?” 

“Oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please—“ 

Prowl had been patrolling while the Constructicons had stubbornly followed after him. For a gang of notorious murderous psychopaths, they sure could whine and beg for attention like Sparklings. He was glad no one else could see the line of construction vehicles following the police cruiser like a line of ducklings; it would be down right embarrassing. It did little to aide Prowl’s constant head ache, as his processor periodically flashed a giant, red alert that he didn’t even know was in his data banks. 

_> ANNOYING AUDIO INTRFERENCE! CEASE IMMEDIEATLY!_

“Please! Please! Please! 

“Come on, boss, this is stupid and you know it!” 

_> ANNOYING AUDIO INTRFERENCE! CEASE IMMEDIEATLY!_

“Just give in!” 

“We promise to be really nice!” 

_> ANNOYING AUDIO INTRFERENCE! CEASE IMMEDIEATLY!_ “Please!” 

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” 

_> ANNOYING AUDIO INTRFERENCE! CEASE IMMEDIEATLY!_

“Plllllllllllllllllllleeeeeeee—“ 

Prowl slammed on his brakes and spun around as he transformed. The green mechs following him stopped short and transformed as well, their faces a mixture of mirth and puppy dog adoration. 

“No!” Prowl shouted, “For the last time I will _not_ take your fragging drugs, and I _will not open up to you!_ Fix the ship and get us off planet now! That’s an order!” 

“Not until you at least _try,_ ” Hook insisted. “Just open up the bond, just for a little while, and feel us as we feel you. Then we’ll fix the ship and be on our way.” 

Prowl groaned and stalked back and forth, putting a hand to his forehead as he collected his thoughts. The Constructicons turned their heads back and forth, watching his path as he paced. 

“Why, why, _why_ are you doing this!?” Prowl demanded.” We have been on opposing sides of a war that has destroyed the universe for centuries, and you honestly think I’ll just let my guard down now? That I’ll just open up in a bond that I was forced into unwillingly, as a tool in a plot to destroy the Autobots? This—this—this isn’t a bond, it’s a _shackle_ made under mind control and villainy! Why do you want me to open up to it so badly?” 

“Open up and we’ll show you,” Long Haul stated. 

Prowl could have flipped tables, but his battle processor made a scream in the form of incoherent zeroes and ones. He swayed on his feet and a look of concern came over the Constructicons, who stepped forward nervously. He held up a hand and they stopped. As Prowl got control again over his processor, the zeroes and ones died out, though not without some ugly cold flickering in his Spark. Primus, he was so cold… 

The Constructicons were not going to give up. They were going to hound him for the rest of their lives if they could, so long as they were cut off and stranded on this planet. Prowl was not used to being out of the loop like this. He did not do “vacations”. He was used to being in the action, being apart of change. Whether as an officer for the police in a busy city, or a strategist, Prowl would go insane on this calm, empty planet, with only the Constructicons keeping him company. He needed to get out of here. But he could only do that by getting off this planet, he could only get off this planet with a ship, and he could only get a ship from the Constructicons, and the Constructicons would only make the ship if he opened up. 

Prowl carefully weighed the options: Of the possible treason that came with willingly opening his mind up to Decepticons, and of getting back to Cybertron and his proper place in the universe as a conductor of plans. Would a more intimate touch with his old enemies really be worth getting off the planet? 

Prowl finally stopped pacing. The Constructicons leaned forward. Prowl took a long, deep breath in, let it out, then turned to the mechs. 

“Alright,” he growled, “But not all at once. I will not be outnumbered in my own mind.” 

Scavenger and Mixmaster exchanged grins, on the verge of squeeing in excitement, while Long Haul and Bonecrusher simply looked relieved and Hook nodded. It wasn’t exactly what they wanted, but if this was the only way they were going to get Prowl to cooperate, then so be it. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. 

“So,” Mixmaster said, whipping out his vials, “Do you want to—“ 

“Primus!” Prowl exclaimed, exasperated, “What is with you and your slagging drugs!?” 

“It’s just to relax you, that’s all!” Mixmaster said, holding up his hands innocently, “Think of it as some cheap high grade, that’s all!” 

“Energon moonshine, lovely,” Prowl muttered. 

“Actually, more like a sedative…” Long Haul said as he pulled out an injection needle. 

Prowl recoiled, but Hook threw what was supposed to be a comforting arm around his shoulders. It felt more like a weight. 

“What the--?” 

“Don’t worry, Prowl!” Mixmaster assured as he pulled out his vials, “It’s completely safe and burns out after a few hours! Or days. I kind of forgot to label these things…” 

He leaned over and whispered to Long Haul, “Hey, should we start him out with the hard stuff or ease him into it?” 

“Eh, let’s go halfway…” Long Haul replied. “Don’t want to turn him off entirely…” 

“I’m warning you,” Prowl snapped, “If you decide to burn my processor out, I will come back from the All Spark to haunt your dreams forever.” 

“We understand, Prowl,” Scavenger said in a cheerful tone that belayed the threat. “So, shall we begin?’ 

“As the most superior mind here,” Hook declared, “I shall go first.” 

“Whatever, just…let’s just get this over with…” Prowl muttered. 

Mixmaster stepped forward with a syringe filled with purple fluid in one hand, and the other extending to Prowl. 

“It’s going to be okay, Prowl,” he assured, “We’re not going to hurt you this time.” 

Prowl shuddered, remembering what happened last time, the first time, with Devestator back on Cybertron… 

“Do you want some?” Mixmaster asked, holding up the needle. 

Prowl eyed the needle, feeling his head ache throb with each calculation his battle processor attempted. Primus, when was the last time his head _didn’t_ hurt? 

“…A sedative, you said?” he asked. 

“Yes. Something that forces the exterior sensors to turn off, there by limiting stimulation and causing a calming affect. You'll be entirely focused on the bond, and won't feel anything externally. But only if you want to, of course!” 

So even if they...took advantage...Prowl at least wouldn't be able to feel anything. He certainly wouldn't feel his processor, or the cold. 

He held out his arm, shuttering his optics. 

“Do it.” 

There was a sharp prick in the exposed tubing of his inner elbow joints, then warnings began to flood Prowl’s processor, telling him of the sedatives and unknown substances that were making their way through his fuel system. Though it made him sick to do so, Prowl forced his alert system to shut down and gave in to the drug. His battle computer rattled in his processor, refusing to turn off just yet, but he bore with it. 

His vision darkened, audio feed quieted, and his entire body became heavy and numb. He felt himself falling before many hands caught him, gently laying him on the ground. There was no need to relocate to somewhere safer: There were no other Transformers or predators on this wild planet. They would do this under the open sky and anonymous stars. 

Someone sat Prowl up, leaning him back against their form, and Hook was sitting in front of him. Hook inched forward, sitting between Prowl’s spread knees, and placed his hands to his chest. A moment of stillness, then his chest plates slid aside, revealing a bright green glow, blinding in Prowl’s growing darkness. Then he reached out to Prowl’s chest, stroking and touching parts he could no longer feel. A bright light emitted from Prowl’s chest, but its color and glow were quickly eaten up by the blackness.


	3. Hook

3.Hook

_> Calculation processes: 89% _

_> Calculation processes: 62% _

_> Calculation processes: 34% _

_> Calculation processes: 5% _

_> Calculation processes: Shutting down…_

Silence fell on Prowl in the abstract space, letting his mind become silent for the first time in weeks. He let out what could be called a relieved sigh, but felt nothing. Only a mercifully quiet blackness, with no sensation of the outside world. Then he felt a slight tugging on his mind.

Oh, right, Hook…

_Do the bond, get the Constructicons to take me home, end it,_ Prowl reminded himself.

There were feelings of hurt from Hook; couldn’t Prowl at least _try_ being friendly with them? Prowl responded with a savage barrage of memories, each depicting the Constructicons’ war crimes over the centuries. Torture, bombing, murder, the savage recycling of fellow mechs, often still alive as they were smelted into building material. How, in Primus' name, could Prowl be friendly with the likes of _them?_

The entire telepathic conversation with memories and feelings was weirdly easy for Prowl to do in spite of never experiencing before. A side affect of the bond? He’d have to put it under his long list of oddities to study later. For now: Exchange enough Spark energy and emotions to sedate the gestalt bond. That was it.

Hook managed to deflect the war memories to put in his say:

**You only know us through cross hairs, badges, and reports. Perhaps it would help if you got know us better, first hand?**

There was a brief flickering as Hook opened up on his end to relay something to the other Constructicons. Prowl couldn't make out much from his cinched-off shelter, but Hook relayed enough: Brief flashes of emotions and thoughts from the other mechs, too quick to be described, punctuated with an agreement: Yes, there would be a theme to the individual bonds, and it would be to prove to Prowl why he was loved by each member of the crew. Prowl merely rolled his optics at the oddly strong sentiment from the mechs and made a mental gesture to just get on with it already.

Prowl did not resist this time as he was tugged deeper into Hook’s mind. In his sedated state he could feel nothing of the outside world but he could imagine this was the part where their Sparks were slowly and carefully coming together. As the Sparks merged Prowl started receiving flashes from Hook’s own memories.

**I am a master of my craft, obviously.**

_Praises from old foremen and superiors, commenting on how well he was doing for one so new._ _He got his first cube of energon as a reward from a particularly generous, older construction type, despite being too young for it._

**I mean, who else can look at a pile of rubble and build a fully functioning gladiator pit with in hours?**

_Trash everywhere. Seeing patterns in the rubble, putting it together. Get the mechs together. Rising up. An arena. Mechs cheering in the arena. Disassembling it back into trash with no one the wiser._

**Then again, a glorified stage to rip each other apart isn’t much. Just a big ring with a lot of seats around it…**

_No art, so drab. No regret for tearing it down again. So much energon staining the material, ruining it, back to trash where it began._

**Still! Each job must be done with perfect detail or is not worth doing! I am a professional! Do you know the meaning of “professional”, Prowl? Of course you do! It means that you are the best of what you do! When no one has any idea of what to do, they come to you for advice!**

_Before Megatron, working in construction, mostly renovating mechs’ apartments. Hook was promoted to foreman on many of these projects when the actual foreman was too lazy or busy to do the work themselves. Hook looks down at a new construction-type mech, nervous and dumb, asking for the fifth time which wire type they should hang in the wall. Behind him are other newbies, asking where to put the supplies, which beam to use in the ceiling, when do they get a break. Absolute morons, most of them, but that’s why he’s here: To fix things._

**It happens quite often for people like you and me, unfortunately, but if they don’t come to you, then nothing will get done!**

_“Primus, just do your job!” Hook shouts at the newbies. The new mechs are still sulking, trying to lose themselves in their news feed and video files, when there’s still an entire section to be done. Hook finds the broadcasting unit someone brought from home and promptly throws it into the trash, cutting off their feed. They complain._

_“You can play after you finish the section!” he snaps, “Now get back to work!”_

**That’s what I like about you, Prowl. You’re a professional. A perfectionist. For things to go right. For everyone to be controlled and controllable…**

_Now the new builders are Autobots, looking for orders on the battlefield. The unfinished building is a dark, underground base somewhere, damp and wet, probably underwater. It’s not Hook, but Prowl, barking orders, telling the unhappy recruits to keep moving if they don’t want to drown in the sinking base. The water is cold, Prowl's joints are aching from growing rust, but slag it if he'll let a little discomfort stop him._

_Prowl remembers this. It was one of the battles early in the war, on a planet 90% water. They had been rescuing scientists from a research base when the Decepticons had sabotaged it, causing it to start sinking. Prowl had kept everyone moving, kept them from getting lost, and gotten them out._

_Order. Control. These were necessary for a team-based success. They were mastered by leaders. Indeed Hook was right: He and Prowl were professionals._

Admiration radiated to Prowl over the bond and the image faded. Hook appeared in front of Prowl, smiling proudly, thinking he had made an important break through. The feeling of kinsman he was sharing settled on the memory of the sea base, drying up the water and bring warmth to Prowl's joints, soothing them with an inaudible sigh. Hook had his fingers in Prowl's shoulder joints, gently massaging life back into them, encouraging the warmth to spread through out his system. Prowl, grateful for the heat, slumped over a little, sighing in contentment. A breath settled on his chevron.

Prowl startled awake, realizing what he was feeling wasn’t just dreaming. Hook was sitting dangerously close in front of Prowl, reaching around and under Prowl's wings to get to his shoulder joints while Prowl was leaning into the mech. The other mech must have been working at Prowl for a while because his cooling fans were already on.

Startled at the odd wake up call, Prowl shoved Hook off of him, letting the Constructicon fall back on the ground. His cooling fans spluttered to a stop in embarrassment. There was a sharp pain in Prowl’s chest as their Sparks separated with a snap of energy, but the pain was quickly numbed out, thanks to the drugs. Unfortunately, the warmth in Prowl's shoulder joints also disappeared, rendering the lovely massage ineffective.

Hook looked up, actually looking upset, but Scavenger helped him up, patting him on the back in comfort. Prowl looked down and found his Spark Chamber open, making him feel nude. The Spark with in was round and blue, glowing brightly from the recent bond. For once, it felt warm, instead of cold and heavy, but was a long way from feeling good. Attempting to push his plates together made him feel a dull ache in the joints, probably a side affect of the drugs. He wouldn’t be able to close them without some pain, he could tell. He attempted to check on his body to make sure nothing had been tampered with, but his HUD was as dead and mute as his battle processor and physical proximity sensors.

Prowl collected himself, ignoring his naked Spark and the fact that he was almost defenseless with a weak, numbed body. The Constructicons gathered around him, patiently, yet eagerly, awaiting his next choice of action. He attempted to close the bond to Hook, only to feel Hook resist.

**You promised…**

Prowl shuddered at hearing and feeling Hook’s hushed whisper inside his own mind, but decided not to argue with it. He had one mech down, he just needed to keep going. Arguing would only make it complicated.

Hook echoed his feelings over to Prowl, hurt that Prowl was so impersonal after such an intimate experience that Hook thought was quite nice. Didn’t they have a bonding moment there? Prowl ignored him; it was a more effective punishment than engaging with him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, “Next one.”

The mechs muttered nervously and Bonecrusher spoke for them.

“Are you sure?” he asked nervously, “You’ll wear yourself out…”

“I am sure,” Prowl said sternly. “Next one. Now.”

“Well, if you insist…”

The speaker flopped down behind Prowl and Prowl twisted to see that it was Mixmaster. Mixmaster crossed his legs and easily pulled Prowl up into his lap, his massive thumbs stroking the outer most edges of Prowl’s chest plates. Prowl felt compelled to swat the hands away, but resisted.

“I am rather wary of this position,” Prowl stated.

“Relax,” Mixmaster purred, engine vibrations going from him to Prowl, “This’ll be fun!"

His hands wrapped around Prowl in a hug and he pulled him close. His own chest plates burst open, showing a wild ball of lime-green energy that more resembled fire than anything else.  Prowl barely had time to open up the bond on his end before his Spark was gobbled up by Mixmaster's and he fell down into bodiless darkness once more.


	4. Mixmaster

**4\. Mixmaster**

Mixmaster had no idea what he was doing, _that_ much was certain. He stumbled through the bond, sort of yanking on what he needed, yet somehow getting it done anyway.

**How--?** Prowl began to ask.

**How am I not an expert in this bond stuff if I've been doing it with the boys for century?** Mixmaster interrupted, and made a shrug from apathy over the bond, **I dunno. Never been one for specifics.**

With the bond opened, Prowl could see how Mixmaster had little to no solid recognition path. He didn't remember names easily, and didn't go by addresses, but by faces and landmarks. This style was even applied to his famous chemistry: He didn't remember exact equations and substances. It was more like a wide, blurry, swath of knowledge, guestimating which things went where to make such an affect and sort of throwing them together. Like, nitrogen seemed to always make things blow up, so if he put it with chlorophyll, would it make the explosion green? No, actually, you would need copper for that. Chlorophyll would probably just melt...

**Speaking of which…** Mixmaster’s voice muttered in the bond.

An explosion went off behind him and Prowl instinctively ducked low and covered his head. Or was he Mixmaster? _No,_ he was _definitely Mixmaster. Mixmaster turned and saw that one of the oil refinery tanks had just exploded. The young mech watched in awe as the fire fighting brigade bolted into the fire, hollering orders at each other. As he stared at the scene, he noticed a foamy blue substance dripping from one of the pipes hanging over the storage tanks. One glob fell, splattering on top of one of the tanks. The substance boiled and hissed, emitting a dark steam, before eating through the metal and falling into the tank._

_It exploded, knocking Mixmaster onto his back and sending him skidding by several feet. The other new mechs touring their soon-to-be work place panicked and fled, but the young Mixmaster merely grinned up at the sky._

_“Cool!” he laughed._

Mixmaster’s attention slipped then and Prowl was rushed through a barrage of memory bits recapping what happened next. Date stamps associated with cataloged memories were missing and corrupted from an experimental explosion when Mixmaster was young. All Prowl managed to grab of the barrage were the barest bits and pieces, impressions that put a picture together.

_Cool! Chemistry? Can I learn, too?_

_No. You’re a Constructicon. Mix stuff, no more. Filthy work for a filthy mech._

_No fair!_

_Too bad._

_Studied in secret, reading “borrowed” chemistry pads before recharge time. Can’t stop knowledge._

_No real teacher, though. No focus, no order, just sort of there, sort of working._

_Good, but not good enough.._

**I think I can do better,** Mixmaster admitted. **You know how to focus, how to put things together. Like…**

To prove his point, Mixmaster offered Prowl a chemical sequence in pieces and puzzles, making Prowl’s head spin from the haphazardly given information. He felt his battle computer stir weakly, then flop back down, unable to break out of its drug-endued shut down. Instead, Prowl could only ride the information roller coaster Mixmaster dumped him on.

**So, it’s super explosive with (carbon) all the gas and water left over so meaning before (nitrogen! BOOM!) the reaction it must have a ton of (oxide) gaseous compounds to it. Oxygen, hydrogen, that sort of stuff…**

On Mixmaster rambled, listing off the chemicals and their actions in a disorganized way. If one knew what he was talking about, they might understand it, similar to one seeing order in a messy room because of it being controlled chaos. Normally, this information was best exchanged via hard line connections and Prowl wasn’t a chemist. But with Mixmaster’s intellect mingling with his own, Prowl could read the symbols and changing flow as if he had studied them for years. With Prowl’s knack for patterns, and Mixmaster’s knowledge, Prowl easily tidied up the equation, balancing and refining it, detecting and eliminating unnecessary elements.

4 C3H5(ONO2)3--> 12 CO2(g) + 10 H2O(g) + 6 N2(g) + O2(g)

A giddy feeling was emitted from Mixmaster, rejoicing at Prowl’s participation.

**See?** he asked, **Wasn’t that fun? And you could do so much more, if we kept doing... _this_ … **

Prowl's optics flickered back online as he felt something nibbling at his neck. Slowly, his optics relit to the world and found Mixmaster practically curled around him, slowly running his tongue over Prowl's neck cables. Each lick sent tingles down Prowl's spinal strut and right up into his chevron, making his door wings raise and drop slowly in content. The sharp difference between Mixmaster's disorganized, hyper-active mind and the calm silence of reality left him in a ull state, trying to get his mind back on track. He felt drowsy and heavy, as if he could just go to sleep right there.The only connection between the two realms were Mixmaster's and Prowl's Sparks and the loud whirring of cooling fans from Mixmaster.

His hands felt like they were filled with cement as he slowly lifted them up and touched Mixmaster's chest, on either side of his open Spark chamber, and pushed. The push had no strength to it, but Mixmaster understood and stopped licking, though it took him a moment before he sat up, giving Prowl his space. He looked down at Prowl with a small smile, then cut the connection himself. As his chest closed, pieces went out of turn and others had to back up to let the sequence complete itself; just as disorganized as his mind. When his chest finally closed, Prowl was shocked to feel his Spark stir, desiring the touch. 

**There's no rush to break the connection,** Hook spoke over the bond.

Prowl's head snapped around to see the other Constructicons watching from the side, leaning forward in their seats to admire their adopted leader.

“Wow, Boss,” Scavenger ventured, “You look really good when you’re relaxed.”

Prowl sat up, shaking Mixmaster’s hands off. Mixmaster, surprisingly, did not put up a fight and permitted his hands to settle on the ground at his sides. One couldn’t deny the way his cooling fans continued roaring or how his engine was resisting the urge to purr. Hook came over and offered a cube of energon he had pulled from his sub space, which Prowl took and took a few gulps from quickly before handing it back. Hook looked down in shock at the over half-full cube left, but Prowl was already scanning the Constructicons.

“Next,” he ordered.

“Prowl,” Hook warned, beaming concern over the bond “You’ll wear yourself out—“

“I said next,” Prowl growled.

“You seem pissy enough,” Long Haul said, coming over to sit beside Prowl. “Let me be next. Scooch, Mix.”

Mixmaster grumbled, but set Prowl on the ground so Long Haul could sit right next to Prowl. He didn't hold back his annoyance at Long Haul agreeing to Prowl's reckless test of endurance, though.

Prowl and Long Haul turned to face each other better and Prowl grimaced at the prospect of merging yet again that day. He ignored the fact that his Spark was much warmer than it was before they started, and his battle processor had yet to start up and hurt him again. Instead he remembered the war, the travesties the Constructicons had committed. He had to focus on that.

_The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over…_ Prowl reminded himself.

**No, never over...** Hook muttered in his mind, and a shiver ran up Prowl's spinal strut.

Long Haul grabbed one of Prowl’s shoulders and pulled him in, none too gently, bringing their foreheads together in a very unromantic head bump.

“Relax,” Long Haul ordered.

His chest plate was snapping open, revealing a pale-yellow spark.

Prowl off lined his optics and took a deep breath in before allowing his Spark to reach for the warmth it so desperately wanted.


	5. Long Haul

**5\. Long Haul**

Long Haul liked Prowl just like the other Constructicons, but he also had some empathy with his forced-bond situation...

**I can get where you’re coming from. I didn’t want to be part of a bond, either. I also understand why you think we’re nothing monsters. But you gotta remember, Prowl, that life isn’t as black and white as your paint job…**

Prowl flinched as something hit the back of his head. He rubbed it as he looked up at the _overhead bridge. A couple of guards were laughing, enjoying their little prank. Long Haul would have told them to piss off, but they bore the Autobot insignia. Instead, the mech stood and picked up what the guards had dropped on him; a piece of pipe, left over from part of the building project he was assigned to. He glared upward at the guards, hefting the pipe piece in his hand and debating how he could hit them without getting arrested. Hook came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder._

_“Not yet,” he instructed, “Only when Megatron gives the order.”_

_Long Haul hesitated, then dropped the scrap piece._

**I wanted to fight for a better future and become one of the big names, you know? Be on the front line! Be known as more than the trash guy!**

_“Hey! I know that guy!” Long Haul exclaimed._

_“That guy” was Thundercracker, pointed out as Long Haul saw him fighting along side Megatron on a balcony high above the ground. Long Haul felt proud, knowing one of his drinking buddies was so famous now. When Thundercracker looked down, Long Haul waved, but there was no recognition in the Seeker’s optics. Some disappointment from Long Haul, but hope, too. All he had to do was become famous and then he would be recognized, right? To be famous, for everyone to know and respect my name. That would be awesome, right?_

Frustration, desperation, just wanting to be recognized, but Long Haul dashed it down as soon as Prowl looked at it. Had to be strong, hide his pathetic neediness under anger and an attitude.

**I didn’t want to be some _fixer upper!_ I wanted to be one of the main revolutionaries!**

_“Oh come on!” Long Haul shouted, “Building detail_ again?”

_“The troops need barracks to sleep in,” Hook stated, “If you have a problem with that, go talk to Megatron himself.”_

_Long Haul did the job, but was grumbling the entire time._

Frustration, frustration, frustration....

**Can you blame me? I thought the entire point of the Decepticon cause was to deny jobs given to us purely on our alt-modes. Yet here I was, building things while others got to go out, kick aft, and get a name for themselves. Sure, I saw action, but not the type that gets you extra energon rations. And when I _was_ given a choice to fight in the big leagues…**

Shock, disgust, but some fear. Yes, fear at loosing his independence. Prowl could relate to that.

_“The project will not work without you, Long Haul,” Shockwave explained. “You must either choose to submit yourself to the bond willingly, or we will do it for you.”_

His fear made worse by that one-optic, faceless freak. Rumor had it he only got off hurting other mechs. Oh, Primus, Long Haul didn't want that mech _near_ him, let alone his Spark. Prowl was unsure as to what to do with the uneasy mech, but he felt Mixmaster and Hook reaching through the bond, giving comfort to their trash hauler. It wasn't some plush, cuddling comfort, but a strong sort, not made of frilly compliments but a stark _confidence_ that Long Haul was alright. This calmed Long Haul down and he managed to continue with the memory.

_“Come on, mech, isn’t there any other way?” Long Haul groaned, “I don’t want to get bonded to the rest of my life to these guys! I mean, they’re cool, don’t get me wrong, but not stuck-in-each-others-heads-forever cool! No offense.”_

_“None taken,” the other Constructicons stated._

**But you gotta admit…**

Long Haul went from annoyed and fearful to amused, and suddenly Prowl was being fed images of what bonding required to be healthy. Mostly berth time, but the Constructicons weren’t afraid of getting dirt in their joints. It was certainly _one_ way of convincing them to finish a project a day or two ahead of schedule. It also involved fingers. And tongue. Oh, wow, lots of tongues in lots of places. Prowl struggled against the memory, appalled at the sudden informality, but Long Haul simply took him along for the ride.

**There _are_ benefits… **

_Hook was straddling Mixmaster, letting his curious fingers slip into all the small cracks he could. The chemist was welcoming it, and while his interface panel was not yet open, he still bucked his hips up in slow, steady movements, encouraging Hook on as he made deep groaning noises and w_ ait a second this was real life.

Prowl jerked awake with a gasp, causing the rowdy mechs to look over at him concerned.

“Good Primus, mechs!” Prowl exclaimed, “Have some decency! You’re out in the open!”

“So?” Mixmaster grunted. “You don’t seem to be having a problem with it.”

Prowl looked down and realized that Long Haul had one hand fully inside of Prowl’s Spark chamber, gently stroking the glowing orb with in while the other hand stroked his thigh. Prowl tried to pull back, but his Spark refused for a moment, sucking on Long Haul’s own. Long Haul leaned over suddenly with a pleased hiss, dropping his forehead on Prowl’s shoulder. Waves of _yes!_ And _good!_ And _do that again, please!_ Echoed over the merge, encouraged by the witnessing Hook and Mixmaster. Bonecrusher and Scavenger looked on enviously, apparently wishing they could put their two cents in, too.

Prowl’s battle computer stuttered, fueled by panic trying to wake up, and he all but _flung_ the odd data bit at the mechs in his head, breaking their concentration. His Spark slid free of Long Haul’s, quickly retreating into his own chest while Long Haul’s Spark went to his chest. Long Haul fell to the side, whining at the loss of warmth, but Prowl gripped his chest, hissing as his Spark suddenly became icy cold, unhappy with the sudden breakage.

“Prowl!” Hook exclaimed.

Concern, realizing they had gone too far. Mixmaster's arousal disappearing faster than one of his explosions. Long Haul, feeling guilt for having scared Prowl and probably ruining their progress.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Prowl said, waving him off. “That will be all for today. I need some rest.”

He couldn't cut off the bond, as per the agreement, but he made sure to beam out his desire to be alone as loudly as he could: Being that intimate with the enemy so suddenly was _not_ his idea of a good time and he would like to be left alone, thank you very much.

Wracked with guilt and frustration, but not wanting to argue, the Constructicons let Prowl slowly transform into his alt-mode and drive off across the night-time valley, making his way to their shelter cave. His entire body was weak and shaky, with the numbness of the drugs from before fading with each mile. He grimaced inwardly as something coiled and grew spikes in his processor, digging into tender corners.

_> Battle computer online.<_


	6. Mr. Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm uploading this faster than expected, but it turns out the Bang needs all fictions completely posted by their dead line, and my happens to be a few days away. Sorry about the reading dump, hope it's worth while!

**6\. Mr. Lonely**

_Prowl was alone._

_He preferred it like that when he was doing paper work in his office; no distractions meant more work got done, which meant getting it done faster so he could…get work more…Primus, who set the AC on ultra high?_

_Prowl was alone._

_Hunting a Decepticon in the back alley ways, gun drawn and prepared. His partner was going to try catching their prey on the other side of the block. In the mean time, Prowl snuck through the narrow passages of the allies, looking for the criminal. Conspiring against the Senate, murder and physical assault performed for entertainment and money, and more. This guy had information on the terrorist organization known as the Decepticons, and if they let him get away, a war could start. Not to mention the sooner they found the perpetrator, the sooner they could get back to the nice, warm station. He turned a corner and his lights fell upon the criminal, but he had his friends with him, all green and purple with terrible red visors and optics—_

_Prowl was alone._

_The rest of his squad had been wiped out. He had failed, war had been initiated, and now he was driving through the burning streets of Cybertron, dodging lasers and burning buildings. One of his coolant lines had been clipped before he had transformed and was leaving a trail of light-blue globs behind him as he drove. His body was missing the coolant, jittering between hellishly hot to deathly freezing every couple of minutes. It was gradually starting to favor the cold.  
_

_“Officer Prowl to base!” he shouted into his communications channel, “Officer Prowl to base! I am alone and in desperate need of—“_

_A bomb went off in front of him, knocking him clear off his wheels. He transformed in the middle of his flight, ready to crash into sharp debris, ready to hit the ground hard, only for green and back hands to catch him, initiating sparks of heat where they touched, and red optics to gaze at him from the flames._

_Prowl was alone._

_He had shouted at Optimus for his foolishness, but no one else had joined him in his small rebellion. They had all, after a little pushing, surrendered to Optimus’ will and agreed to Megatron’s trial. Prowl realized that he had to leave before he did something foolish, whether it be fighting his comrades or re-starting the war himself.  
_

_So Prowl had sat alone in the space bay, waiting for his ship to be prepped for take off. Temperature control wasn’t good here; they weren’t heating the bay up enough. Ice was forming on the floor at his feet, spreading out. He kept his optics on the floor, even when the reflection of green and purple forms appeared at his feet._

_Prowl was alone._

_Floating in darkness, with nothing around him. No sights, no sounds, not even stars. It was even worse than the recent cataclysm with Shockwave, when he attempted to destroy the universe for the sake of immortalizing Cybertron. At least then there were other mechs, sounds, noises. Here, it was just a void. A void that originated from his very Spark, making it clench down, cold and miserable. He didn’t want to be alone._

**You don’t have to be…**

_A hand grasped Prowl’s, almost entirely encompassing it, but Prowl didn’t mind. It was somebody else. Prowl allowed it to pull him closer to the owner, pulling him up against a broad chest. Two lights appeared, one red and one pink, growing brighter the more Prowl touched the stranger._

Prowl looked up and found himself in the arms of Bonecrusher. They were still in the cave Prowl had chosen as his rest area, and dawn had yet to break. Bonecrusher sat on the floor, leaning up against the wall as he held Prowl, with his chest plates folded open to reveal his pink Spark, and his red visor glowing softly.

"Never took you for a romantic," Prowl muttered.

_> Danger! Danger! Enemy with in striking distance! Thirty-two death options present! Sixy-seven counter measures available-- _

"Why? Because I'm a Decepticon?" Bonecrusher replied.

_> Cancel warnings. Initiate battle computer shut down. _

"That, and your reputation for wanting to destroy _everything_."

_> Canceling warnings. _

_> Shutting down battle computer…_

 

_ >Error! Battle computer unable to shut down at this time. _

Every ping was a painful jab to Prowl's processor. Bonecrusher opened his mouth, but Prowl held up a hand, gesturing to his head. Bonecrusher understood and sat quietly.

_> Initiate battle computer stand by. _

_> Initiating stand by… _

_> Stand by now in affect._

The jabs turned into a low ache in Prowl's processor; an improvement, but not by much.

“Doesn’t that thing ever bother you?” Bonecrusher asked, “Hook, Mix’ and Long Haul all say it keeps bugging you. Why not turn it off?”

“It’s apart of me, and is necessary to survive war,” Prowl replied.

“We’re not at war,” Bonecrusher pointed out.

“And this bond is still involuntary,” Prowl shot back, “What’s with this romantic waking-in-bed nonsense, anyway?”

“Just wanted to be nice is all.”

“Decepticons don’t do ‘nice’.”

“Decepticons aren’t going to be much of a thing without Megatron around.”

A heavy silence fell between them, then Prowl looked down at his Spark.

“Are we going to continue this or what?”


	7. Bonecrusher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks for all the Kudos, guys! I didn't think this story would be that popular, 'specially for a newbie like myself! Thank you so much for the support! ^_^
> 
> Also, this was the toughest chapter to write. Just sort of--got stuck? Hope the re-write is worth of your approval, and if not, hey, critiques are welcome!

**7\. Bonecrusher **

This time, the bond didn’t take Prowl away instantly. Instead, Bonecrusher deliberately held energy back as he pulled Prowl closer in a sort of hug, making him watch as his blue spark merged with Bonecruser’s pink one into a lavender blur. Prowl braced himself on Bonecrusher’s arms, just short of pushing away and grunting as strange sensations began rippling across his body. It took him a moment to register the feelings as “pleasure” and that what he was feeling was an honest attempt to make him fully enjoy the situation.

"Honestly, Prowl, has it really been so long since someone made you feel good?"

Bonecrusher ran his hands down Prowl’s back, petting the sensitive panels between his wings.

"Yes," Prowl stated, "It is foolish to develop such intimate bonds during war time."

"Tsk. Such a workaholic, worse than Hook..."

Bonecrusher paused to rub his fingers over the joints between the wings and back, then ran lower still until he was kneading a knot low in Prowl's back. His massive engine hummed and buzzed under Prowl pleasantly, reminding Prowl of the massage chairs humans had back on Earth. Primus, why couldn't the mech live up to his name now and not make it feel so good? In the Spark bond, Bonecrusher sent out ripples of emotions and sensations that purred against Prowl's own Spark: _Relax, safe, no harm, in control, good, wonderful..._

With the previous nightmare still rolling in Prowl's head, he made no secret of his own emotions: _Wary, fear, distrust, righteousness, reluctance._

Prowl squirmed, trying to disconnect himself from the growing tingles of the touches, but Bonecrusher's grasp turned into a bear hug, encompassing Prowl in an almost ridiculous display of control. With his arms bound to his side, Prowl could do little to deter the much larger mech. After a little squirming, he went limp and huffed in annoyance right into Bonecrusher's shoulder.

"Fine," he grunted, his voice muffled as he spoke into Bonecrusher's body, "What do you want?"

Bonecrusher's Spark flared and Prowl was pulled away from the outer world once more. This time, there wasn't so much of an absence void as there was just sort of not noticing the outside world as much. He could distant feel his body, encased in the warm metal cocoon of Bonecrusher's arms, but it simply took a back seat to everything else.

**I want perfection.**

Prowl was bombarded with memories. Of the cleaning drones being beaten by guards, of femmes forced to say yes, of Bonecrusher being cheated out of energon and credit purely because he was a mere “construction worker”. Being denied better living quarters for his rank, unable to enter certain shops due to favoritism. All because of his alt-form, and the laws decreed by the original Autobot Council.

**The whole entire system was rotten and needed to be destroyed, right down to the very foundation.**

Bonecrusher's tone was dripping with malice, disgust, and hate. _This_ was how a Decepticon was supposed to act, _not_ like a coddling lover. _This_ was one of the mechs Prowl had spent centuries trying to imprison or execute. It was a shocking difference compared to his currently gentle exterior, but oddly comforting to Prowl. It felt like the old days, when it was a simple matter of Us vs. Them and all he had to do was make sure they won with minimal casualties.

So rather than shrink away from the dark, prickling hate warming Bonecrusher's Spark, Prowl basked in it.

A spark briefly interrupted Bonecrusher's anger, pleasantly surprised at Prowl's acceptance. Emboldened by the reaction, Bonecrusher pushed on, feeling the confidence to be more open and honest.

**The Council may have been repairable once, long before the war was even conceived, but in our time, it was nothing more than a collection of nobles, living only for themselves, and murdering anyone who spoke against them...**

Empurata: The deliberate mutilation of mechs to make them outcasts of society. Horror stories of the Institution: A secret, mobile government agency whose goal was to capture the more unruly members of the population and re-write their processors like they were mindless machines instead of free-thinking people. There were others, but when compared to them, death was a merciful punishment.

**But they were too powerful to merely dethrone. We--the Decepticons--could not just take their place of power over Cybertron, but purify it of all the wretched cowards who followed the Council, making room for a new system that would never abuse its people, nor its power, and use its resources wisely. The only way to do this was war.**

The war began, sides were picked, and rage was unleashed. There had been so much hope, so much confidence in the beginning. They, who had had no power before, found it in rifles, weapons, and their fists, and felt like they would finally be able to make a difference. To get what was rightfully theirs, if only they fought for it, as Megatron decreed.

**Megatron was the one who convinced many struggling, beaten down mechs and femmes to fight for what was right. Unfortunately, all he got us to do was fight. We couldn’t work together, and that was why everything went so badly. Maybe if we had someone with more control, things could have gone better…**

Bonecrusher laced “control” with his impression of Prowl: Strict, stern, and more than capable of commanding and organizing troops. He was also mercilessly cunning, more than willing to throw a weaker person under the bus to get the job done right. He was ruthless and passionate like that, and was incredibly close to being the perfect leader, but was so stubborn when it came to his loyalty to the Autobots! He didn’t need the Autobots! With him leading and the Constructicons backing him up, both factions would be transformed into a proper force of change overnight. But only if he were willing.

_> Battle computer online. _

_> Recalculating position of Constructicons…._

Prowl grimaced as his battle computer took the worst time to get itself out of stand by and cram a calculation into itself. Handfuls of needles ran over the over-worked circuits, made even more tender by the fading drugs. Had Prowl not been a war-hardened veteran, he might have screamed in pain. Instead, he tried to hide it, but his slight shivers gave him away.

Sensing the pain, Bonecrusher's mind pressed against Prowl's. The battle computer, unsure of which blurred mind was its own master, passed some processes over to Bonecrusher, easing the pain in Prowl. Suddenly, the agony became a soft throb deep in his processor, filling Prowl with relief. Prowl relaxed with a sigh, and realized that he felt hard ground on his back.

On-lining his optics, he found himself laying on the ground with Bonecrusher on his hands and knees over him, with a long lavender stream connecting their sparks. One of Bonecrusher's hands hovered over Prowl's chassis, but hesitated as worry came over his processor: Had he over stepped his bounds. Prowl took the larger hand in his...and guided it to his cheveron. Hesitantly, Bonecrusher began to rub one of the horns between his thumb and index finger, and Prowl hummed pleasantly.

It was Bonecrusher's turn to be relieved and he settled down so he was on his knees over Prowl, with his elbows resting on either side of the mech and his hands rubbing Prowl's chevron. Their faces were dangerously close, but no proximity alarm was going off in Prowl's mind yet. Instead, his Spark twisted, arching up towards Bonecrusher's to encourage more mental contact, distributing the processing power of Prowl's battle computer between two minds, and making their border increasingly blurry. It was intoxicating and Prowl found himself giving in more and more to the feeling, losing track of which desires were his and which were Bonecrushers. Did he _really_ wanted his helm rubbed like this, or was that Bonecrusher? Was Bonecrusher _really_ worried about crushing Prowl, or was Prowl signaling that plea to him from a distant seed of consciousness?

_> Calculations halted._

_ >Calulating Megatron Trial/Optimus Betrayal… _

_> Calculations halted._

_> New data base: Codename Bonecrusher._

_> New data detected. _

_> Analyzing data…_

Boncrusher leaned down and suddenly kissed Prowl. Any disgust or horror Prowl may have felt was getting lost in the high of...whatever was going on in his processor. It was like he was exchanging data over cables, but at a massive rate he had never even  _comprehend_ before. Bonecrusher's memories flew by him quickly, but perfectly, not just glimpses and summaries. His knowledge, his thought processes, all unrolling before Prowl for studying and use. Physical contact was worth nothing to this data! This data that Prowl's battle computer would devour with greed and feed into further operations, further plans, always  improving, always reaching forward--

Bonecrusher broke the kiss and sat back, letting his Spark release Prowl's and cutting off the bond.

_> Error! Disruption in data feed._

_> Error! Disruption in systems: Battle computer in emergency stand by until reboot is complete._

_> Rebooting..._

Prowl’s head snapped up and his optics blazed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

He jabbed at the bond, but Bonecrusher merely kept it blocked off.

"Oh, so _now_ you want to share the bond?" Bonecrusher mocked.

Prowl sat up, growling in annoyance, but only fell back on the ground when his body refused to cooperate: A combination of the building charge suddenly abandoned and his battle processor rebooting. Bonecrusher merely chuckled and petted Prowl's head.

“Not yet,” Bonecrusher said, “There’s one more of us.”

Looking around, Prowl saw Scavenger sitting right near him and Bonecrusher. He was sitting on his legs with his hands curled on his knees and a big, goofy grin on his face. He looked like a kid ready to receive his present. Prowl merely rolled his optics and extended an arm towards the mech. The high and charge were alive and wild inside of Prowl, and right now, any mech would do to help him reach the climax.

“Here. Now.”

Scavenger’s chest plates snapped open, revealing a bright green Spark. The mech scrambled over to Prowl and, with Prowl's guiding hands giving him permission to, came to straddle the mech. Prowl gripped Scavenger's shoulders and pulled him down upon his Spark, merging the two in a turquoise light that Prowl dove into with a zeal.


	8. Scavenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, only two more left!

** 8\. Scavenger **

  
The instant Prowl touched his mind to Scavenger's, he recoiled. There was no disgust, but shock and guilt.

**What's the matter, Prowl?** Scavenger inquired.

What was the matter was the sheer amount of _need_ that filled Scavenger: The need to be acknowledged, the need to be needed and wanted beyond his mineral detecting abilities. In most mechs, it would be seen as pathetic. But in a Decepticon, it was shocking to see something so innocent as the need to be cared for be so strong in a mech who had done such horrible things over the eons for such terrible people. Despite all the atrocities he and his fellows had been and gone through, the simple need to be loved was still strong in this one. This need was now directed to Prowl: To give Scavenger a chance to win Prowl's approval, by any means necessary. 

Prowl hesitated, for once feeling like the villain in the situation. Did he really want to touch such a mech for his own gain? To potentially corrupt him with his own bitter past and cynical views? Scavenger... Scavenger was a rarity like this. Prowl wasn't sure that he wanted to take that away.

Scavenger pulled him closer, passing on feelings of _it's okay, trust, welcome._

Prowl's mind twitched, hesitating, but the burning in his mind needed fuel to bring it to its peak. So, carefully and gently, his mind pressed against Scavenger's, and Scavenger pushed against his until their minds were a near-single item. Scavenger was able to fully witness Prowl's battle computer awake with a cry of zeroes and ones.

_> Danger! Close proximity with enemy! _

Scavenger attempted to convince the battle computer otherwise.

_> Correction: Not enemy._

Scavenger's grip slipped and the computer returned to itself, then seeing its own actions, was confused. Prowl actually laughed at the adorable clumsiness of the mech as he tried and failed to control the computer.

_ >Correction: Enemy._

_ >Correction: ???????? Error? _

_> Alert! Multiple Spark connections immanent!_

Prowl could distantly feel his body being lifted, moved, but Scavenger—Primus, Scavenger was a trap! The digger certainly had a hold of Prowl, and kept him in a bond-trance even when he could feel himself being moved for better access by all the ‘Cons. Yet it didn't matter as Prowl's mind found what it needed : More data to feed his greedy computer, more of a mech to grasp onto, open up, and read like a map.

The Constructicons were all crowding into his end of the bond now, touching it with finger tips, eager, but hesitant. But Prowl could also feel their data slipping into him, strengthening his battle processor’s abilities by expanding its reach into their own minds, using their additional processing space. What had once caused him agony was now being spread across six mechs and giving it room to run, fully analyzing data. Prowl accepted them recklessly, already addicted to this new high.

_> New data base: Codename Hook._

_> New data base: Codename Mixmaster_

__> New data base: Codename Long Haul  
_ _

_> New data base: Codename Bonecrusher  
_

__> New data base: Scavenger_ _

_> New data detected. _

_> Analyzing data…. _

There it was again. The addicting stream of fresh data that finally promised purpose and peace in his mind once more. He wanted it. He needed it. He had no idea what would become of it, but Primus if he was going to let it remain a mystery.

He took the plunge.


	9. Scrapper

**9\. Scrapper**

There was so much-- _so much_ \--to see and read and do, and for a moment, Prowl stumbled around memories and personalities, entirely losing himself among the mechs. One minute he was Hook, somewhat flustered with the haphazard way the bond had been done so far, but proud that it was being done, none the less. Then he was Long Haul, realizing what was happening and annoyed that he had fallen so far from his initial borders. As Scavenger, he soaked up all the approval of the mechs at such a rate that he became over charged of it and fell back into Bonecrusher, who struggled to keep his control to avoid trouble. It was when he touched upon Mixmaster and he was scanning everything with no pattern or order, did he notice an oddity in the bond. Well, it really wasn't something that was _in_ the bond, but what was _missing_ from it: An inexplicable negative space, a freezing void where something wondrous had once been, and wove among and between all the other mechs.

Stabilized by his own curiosity, Prowl managed to disconnect himself from the mechs to take a closer look at this weird void. As he approached it, he felt anticipation and grief from the other mechs, which only intrigued him more.

 _A new memory came to him, grainy, fuzzy, as if on ancient film. It was of a common worker’s barrack room, with simplistic furniture and minimal decorations. On one bed was Scrapper—former leader of the Constructicons and…well, for now he looked young, innocent, even, completely unaware of how terrible his life would become._ _Prowl raised his metaphorical eye brows, unused to seeing a ghost._

 _Scrapper lay in his berth, drawing up blue prints in an art program on a data pad. Hook watched from across the room in his own berth, optics sparkling as Scrapper created cathedrals, grand halls, and amphitheaters on the art program. He, too, was young, not yet bulked up by battle armor, scarred by battle, or carrying malice in every gesture. They were both so young and...ordinary. They weren't_ _Megatron's prized gestalt monster machine; only construction workers._

 _“Those are incredible,” Hook said, “Why don’t you take them to the Infrastructure Guild? They_ have _to promote you if they saw your designs!”_

 _“They already did,” Scavenger sighed, turning off the design program. “They got one of the memorials in Crystal City. I got a hard smack and a reminder that I was built as a Constructicon,_ not _an artist.”_

_Hook worked his mouth, unable to put words to his shock, then sighed and slumped over, covering his face with his palm._

_“Slagging Autobots…” he muttered._

_“Hey, look on the bright side,” Scrapper said, sitting up, “If everything goes like Megatron says it will, we’ll get everything we’ve always wanted and more, including credit.”_

“If _things go well.”_

_Scrapper’s visor flashed in amusement, “Haha, well, come on, we got to get the team together and go build the Stadium for tonight…”_

_As Scrapper spoke, the world dissolved into black and white and glitches, then dark. He was fully floating in the void of the bond, freezing cold in spite of the bodies he could distantly feel pressed against him. It wasn’t just dark from the lack of input, though, but from the grief the entire bond was radiating. It reminded Prowl why he had blocked off such a feeling a long, long time ago. Hook spoke in the darkness._

**But they didn’t.**

Earth had changed everything for many mechs, the Constructicons included. Earth was where they met the human Spike Witwicky, a common man whose vengence and rage had known no borders. The man had managed to hunt Scapper down when he was hiding from enemy troops, blinded him with acid, and, in an ironic twist of fate, dropped a few tons of steel beams on him to pin him down, not caring that some of the beams had pierced the already handicapped Decepticon. Scrapper had acknowledged Witwicky as the victor and surrendered, but the human had had no mercy. What followed had changed the Contructicons' lives forever.

_Agony._

_**Scrapper!** _

_Something piercing their mid-riff._

_**Scrapper, where are you?** _

_No_ Scavenger’s _mid-riff, steel, pinning him to the floor…_

_**Just tell us where you are! We’ll come get you!** _

_Spilling energon every where..._

_**Scrapper! We can’t get a read on you! Help us!** _

_A mad dash to find him, help him._

_**Damnit, don’t die on us, Scraps!** _

_But as soon as it started…_

_A quick pain in their processor—_

_**Scrapper, NO!** _

_It was over._

_Hook looked at Bonecrusher, who was trying to get a limp and quietly sobbing Scavenger off the floor. Mixmaster stood, staring into nothing with his jaw slack in shock._

_“G-g-g-g-g-gone…” Scavenger whispered, “He’s just…how? Why?”_

_“Will…will we survive?” Mixmaster asked quietly, “Can…can gestalts survive with a member dead?”_

_“We’ll find out,” Hook muttered._

**Turns out a broken gestalt _can_ survive losing one of its members, though not easily,** Long Haul said. **It’s cold. Heavy. It aches. And that _pain_ when Scrapper died…**

 **He didn’t deserve it,** Hook grumbled, **He was an artist. A genius. He didn’t deserve to be killed like that. He didn’t deserve to slave away in a thankless war for so long, only to be killed off like some old drone. He had a brilliant mind, brilliant like…**

Suddenly, Prowl was swept into a blazing light, one filled with plans and schemes every bit as intricate and incredible as Scrapper’s designs. Each plan had been stream lined for maximal efficiency and chances of success, and for each chance of failure, there was a countermeasure. Prowl had to do a double take, realizing that what he was looking at was, from the view of the Constructicons, his own mind.

**Yours.**

Prowl took a step back in surprise, staring at his own Spark as it floated in mid-air. Hook came from the darkness to stand behind him, running his hands over Prowl’s shoulders and arms. The contact pushed the cold away, bringing warmth to numbed limbs.

**You can fix us, Prowl. Make us whole again. And in return, you’ll have our love, our loyalty, our skills, everything, at your disposal.**

Hook slid his hands down to grasp Prowl’s and gently lift them, extending them to the Spark as it coiled and turned, changing into a multi-faceted gem, with each face glittering with memories and thoughts; the gestalt bond, made of all of their Sparks together.

 **All you have to do,** Hook purred into Prowl’s audio, **Is let us in.**

Prowl was distantly aware that, in the real world, the Constructicons had drawn close, entrapping him in a bush of limbs and nuzzles. Hook kissed and breathed heavily on Prowl’s audio, encouraging him. Prowl’s battle processor echoed distantly over the bond, trying to calculate the pros and cons of letting this happen. But the numbers and words were jumbled, incoherent and useless. With coaxing touches, both physical and mental, the Constructicons guided Prowl into his place in the bond, filling the freezing void. As he slid into his destined place, the bond reformed and reshaping itself to fill the void and accommodating his own mind and body. The cold rapidly vanished and was warmed, and Prowl welcomed it.


	10. Prowl

**10\. Prowl **

There was no messy emotional merging, no blurring of memories and identification. You can’t blur the lines of a whole unit. And finally, that was what Prowl was: A whole unit, with each Constructicon being another data base of information connected to his own. With all this new data, and his mind given space to compute it properly over several processors, Prowl’s battle computer became clear, stating his problems and goals. 

_ >Analyzing data… _

_> Problem: Forced gestalt bond with enemy unit codename Constructicons. _

_> Update. _

_> Problem: Resolved. Constructicons have been assimilated into main data base. Re-categorize Constructicons as allies. _

_> Problem: Enemy leader known as Megatron to receive trial by the orders of [former] leader Optimus Prime. Optimus Prime’s history record shows an undependable high level of sympathy and mercy. _

_> Chances of Megatron receiving “Not Guilty” charge under Optimus: 89%. _

_> Resolution: Remove Optimus from power. _

_> Conflict: Optimus Prime is supreme ruler over Autobots, with considerable battle record and number of loyal soldiers Will be immensely difficult to remove Optimus from power._

_ >Possible resolution: Use new allies._

From there, the possibilities blossomed out, becoming a huge web of choices, plans, countermeasures, and calculations.Prowl’s battle computer did not chew on this data roughly, but instead absorbed it, carefully processed it like it should. Rather than be done in an impersonal manner, it flooded Prowl with life and energy, making him excited, joyous, even, finally without pain or anxiety.

The Constructicons swarmed all over, around, and in him, stimulating his body as well as his mind, fueling his processor with all the possibilities the gestalt had. The gestalt members were getting off on the pleasures of the body, but Prowl was getting off on the flood of information and numbers in his processor. The Constructicons felt his mind flaring up with energy and basked in the foreign electrical feeling in their minds. The combination of familiar physical touches and the new, cleansing sensation of one's mind being used to its full extent, all carried back and forth across an open bond, created a level of pleasure that none of the mechs had felt in a long, long time. Finally, it over whelmed them all and Prowl surfed up high on an energy wave before falling asleep.

* * * * * *

Prowl awoke to find himself wrapped in Scavenger’s arms, laying in the cave. Scavenger stirred and pulled Prowl closer in a tighter hug.

“Y’feeling alright, boss?” he asked. “Not sore or anything, are you?”

Prowl ran a quick diagnostic: Paint transfers, some dents, definite interface array interaction with in the last twenty-four hours. But the mechs had cleaned him up well and taken care not to harm him. A part of Prowl was disappointed that he had not actually felt such an event, but was reassured with the realization that there would be repeat performances in the future.

He smiled, “No, not even a stiff joint.”

“Oh, good. We tried to be careful.”

“Speaking of which, where are the others?”

“Working on the ship. You kept your end of the bargain, we’ll keep ours.”

Prowl was silent for a minute, then lay his head down on Scavenger’s arm. He debated about ordering Scaveneger to tell them what he wanted, but decided against it. Instead, he focused on the gestalt bond and opened it up. Warmth filled Prowl’s processor and he became distantly aware of what the other mechs were doing. Long Haul and Bonecrusher were pulling the remains of the ship apart, setting aside usable parts and tossing trash and scraps into Mixmasters’ mixing drum as he sat in his alt-form, melting it at a slow pace as he waited for someone to make the proper molds to set the metal in. Hook’ processor was buzzing with blue prints, picking out pieces and parts of various craft and gradually working a building model. The mechs didn’t stop working, but they emitted a warm feeling of welcome.

**How are you feeling?** Hook asked over the bond.

Happy, but also slightly worried that they had pushed Prowl too far again. Prowl responded without annoyance and disgust; only plesant welcome.

**Very good, thank you,** Prowl replied. **I just wanted to say that you can take your time on the craft. I…need time to think.**

The mechs didn’t need to ask him what he was thinking over; his mind was theirs as their minds were his. They made no secret of the perverse pleasure they felt at being able to win over their former enemy, now gestalt leader. Prowl dismissed it. An old part of him was disappointed that he had given in so easily. He was throwing away eons of Autobot loyalty for these mechs and planning the unspeakable for Optimus. But then again, said leader had thrown said eons of loyalty right back in Prowl’s face by deciding to give Megatron a trial. It was even.

“You want me to go out and help them?” Scavenger asked.

“No, I’m quite comfortable right here, if you don’t mind. In fact...”

Prowl sat up, gently pushing Scavenger onto his back on the ground. Prowl crawled on top of Scavenger and straddled him, optics sparking in need.

"I didn't get to feel _everything_ last night because of distractions. Care to give me an encore, Scavenger?"

The whoop of joy Scavenger shot out from his bond had the other mechs groaning in jealousy. Scavenger grinned happily as he gazed up into Prowl's optics, now sporting a dark maroon color at their edges, and prepared himself to win his leader's praise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we're done! Special thanks to ya'll for making it through this fic, I hope it was worth your time! Sorry it was longer than expected and a little hectic in some places. I guess the plot over took me at some point. ^_^"
> 
> **Credits:**  
>  Done for [the Transformers Reverse Bang 2014](http://tf-reversebang.livejournal.com/804.html)   
> Partnering and inspiring [picture](http://38.media.tumblr.com/93acba9d5526c260a4c7dfae2f8e6856/tumblr_nbc70qrNWF1r2uq7ro1_500.png) done by the incredible[Shibara](http://shibara.tumblr.com/)   
> Transformes belongs to Hasbro.


End file.
